True

“This is the sound of my soul
This is the sound
I bought a ticket to the world
But now i've come back again”*

We really need this cruise. Things here at the Rock Bottom Mushroom Farm have been more than a little stressful lately. Fozzie, after an exceptional round of sex the other night, did not drop off into peaceful, serene dreams like I did. He wound up sitting straight up in bed in the middle of the night, realizing that each year that we have lived here, he has made substantially LESS income than the year before. It put him in a terrible mood, to realize that he is not where he planned to be at this stage in life. SIGH

And then there are the ever exciting and oh so expensive adventures of Surlymon the Maniac. Surlymon, brilliant art college student by day, whose alter ego is Leadfoot, speed demon of the highways and byways. And he has the grades (3.7 gpa) and the points on his license (8 at the moment) to prove it. The kid is gonna kill me yet. While the beleaguered FozzieBear and I sail away to Caribbean ports of call for a week of much needed pampering, Surlymon will be going to traffic court for his THIRD speeding ticket in a year. The kicker is that this ticket will suspend his driving privileges for 60 days. And do you think that Surlymon gives a shit?? He seems to be wearing that cloak of invincibility that is standard issue for boy/men his age---“What, me worry?”

Its like the Gunfight at the OK Corral. Sheriff FozzieBear and Doc Bluejinx squared off against Surlymon the Stupid. Naw, its more like Mad Max in the Thunderdome when we are all three together anymore. I only wish my legs looked half as good as Tina Turner. Surlymon just does not have a clue how his actions are affecting the rest of us. Our car insurance rates rival the national debt, and they only know about ONE of the speeding tickets so far. I have had the nervous shits for over a month now, with no end in sight, my lungs are about to leap out of my chest and go on strike from processing all the fags I’ve been inhaling, and most food tastes like dirt. God I love stress!!!

Fozzie is driving himself and our van into the ground with work, we signed our lives away to the tune of $30 thousand to put this man/child in college, our income this year is gonna be $10k less than last year, and I, on my VA income am the big breadwinner in this house. We pay Surlymon’s college, we pay his insurance, we pay the $8k loan on the car he drives like a maniac, and we pay for a cell phone that 1. is dead a lot, 2. seldom with him, 3. never turned on when it is with him and he has the NERVE to come home poormouthing Friday because he only has $30 in his checking account. (I have recently demanded that he turn over half his paychecks to go towards insurance).

For a test to see if Surlymon truly had his hitchhiking plans in place for his upcoming 60 day suspension, I told him Saturday I was going to need his car on Thursday this week. First words out of his mouth were “For how long?” and then immediately “Can YOU take me to Peabody’s so I can ride with him that day?” When I said no, he almost exploded. We have been telling him since we knew about the upcoming suspension that I was not going to turn into his personal driver. The way he reacted Saturday night proves that he has been thinking I would cave in.

When he was in Jr and Sr High schools, he would regularly get kicked off the bus. We happen to live 7 miles from the Jr and 5 miles from the Sr high schools, and you guessed it, I made him walk. I would drive him in the mornings, but he had to hike home in the afternoons. My point was that I was not going to be punished by his stupidity. He wasn’t punished by it either; the little shit actually preferred walking to riding that zoo they call a bus. College is further away, and walking is not going to be an option this time. Bus service is not going to be an option either, way out here in the sticks. And then there is the transportation he is gonna need to his job, to his weekly allergy shots, his monthly shrink appointment, and of course college 5 days a week.

Call me lazy, a bad mother, sadist, whatever you like. I just don’t think that I should immediately bail him out of this mess he has made. The worst part is knowing that of course I will, in the end. All I need now is the chauffer’s uniform.

“Why do i find it hard to write the next line
When i want the truth to be said
I know this much is true”*

*True, 1983, Spandau Ballet